


Chapter Forty-Seven: The Wait

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [48]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Other, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The loss of one friend, and nine sols to grieve for another; for Artemis, mourning had always been a solitary exercise. </p><p>Funerals are for the living, to share in grief, to remember those who had rejoined the Allspark.</p><p>
  <i>Give me five cycles...five cycles to switch off.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Forty-Seven: The Wait

After awakening  
The silence grows  
Screams subside  
Distortion shows  
Mutant thought  
Of bad mouthed news  
It's just another birth  
Of distorted views  
— "The Wait" by Killing Joke, from Killing Joke (1980)

Ratchet held true to his word: within ten cycles, her equilibrium and her sight were on par, and the physical pain under control. The heat sinks were another matter, one that, whereas Ambulon had been cautious about, Ratchet cursed her out, giving her a lengthy lecture regarding black market upgrades, especially when coupled so close to her central processor, before switching tactics and launching a verbal assault on First Aid for not addressing the situation back in Autobot City.

"Low priority now," the chief medical officer grouched, "I'll work on it when I work on your arm — "

First Aid cleared his throat. "I could take care of that when we — "

"You had your chance thirteen stels ago!" Ratchet interrupted. "Spend two stels boxed and all medical advances we've made goes into the sluice pit."

"Take it out on me all you like, you cantankerous gashole," Artemis snapped, "I didn't divulge that info because it was irrelevant at the time — "

"It was your — " Ratchet pointed at First Aid " — responsibility to pick that up — "

Now First Aid went on the defencive. "What part of understaffed and underfunded — "

"Can we stop talking about me in the third person when I'm sitting between the two of you?" Artemis growled.

Ratchet pressed his finger against her nose, hard. "You stay out of this!"

She resorted to facing straight ahead, following his movements with glaring optics and a sporting a sneer.

After the repair, he refused to return her flask. "You'll get it back when I fix the rest of your assembly," he retorted. "We need you sober. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do." An afterthought: "You can stay with Magnus or get the hell out of my medibay. Your choice."

He was being nice. "Thank you," she whispered, hooking a stool with her foot and half-kicking, half-dragging it to Magnus's bedside as Ratchet left to work on Drift's legs. Anger dissipated into gloom as the severity of the situation returned.

First Aid leaned over her shoulder to whisper, "I'll take a look at those heat sinks after we get under control here."

"I spent over a millennium with them in their current state, I think I can wait a few more sols," she nodded. "Thanks."

Without interaction with others, time slipped away. She had a vague memory of leaving for basic functions — refuel, recharge, repeat. Perhaps? Only when someone entered her personal space, to remind her to take care of herself. More times than not, it was Trailcutter. Others...did she recall Hoist at one point? Grapple? A jumble of faces and words were blending into one another.

The only constant was her dying friend.

Cavalier came in at one point. Artemis was aware of the Minibot asking Magnus if he remembered back on Earth, when he took out Motormaster to save her life. The severity of how Cavalier told the story — usually she spun it about that she took out Menasor, with Magnus as backup — was itself an indication of the inevitable.

Cavalier left. There might have been more words exchanged. Artemis could not recall. People came in, left. Swerve checked on him more than once. So did Tailgate. Others, too. More words, but they felt empty.

Time passed, marked by condolences and well-wishes.

Until someone rested a hand on her right shoulder. "Hey, beautiful."

Other than tilting her head towards the gesture, she said nothing.

"The memorial service starts in a half-megacycle," Trailcutter reminded.

She nodded, remaining silent.

"He'll still be here, Art." His words caught in his throat; he swallowed. "I...sorry, you should do what you need to do. But...I'd like it if you'd join me. Because I don't deal with death very well."

"Then don't go," she suggested simply.

"I have to say good-bye. Pipes was my friend. Rewind was yours."

Her vents cycled as she took his hand. "I don't do well at funerals. Grieving's a private thing for me."

"Funerals...they're meant for the living, you know. To help, to share, to remind us we're not alone."

"'Fight it, deny its existence, bury it further.'"

He was silent for a few clicks. "Excuse me?"

"Something said to me a while ago. 'When does it end?' I said it didn't. The more I think about it, the more I realise that while it may not end, perhaps it does get softer, easier to accept. Maybe it doesn't end, but accepting — sorry, I'm rambling."

He said nothing, only knelt beside her, placing a hand on the small of her back. He was hesitant to hug, to hold her. Out of fear that he would aggravate her wounds? Or out of a perceived reluctance to show affection and comfort in front of the mech who was the reason she had joined the crew in the first place?

"It's okay," she released his hand, then wrapped her arm around his shoulder. "Go ahead — Hoist and Grapple will be there; Hound, too."

"Yeah." His response was flat.

After another couple of cycles, she turned her head, pressing her brow to his. "Give me a bit to pull myself together."

He met her gaze, noses now touching.

"I can't make promises," she admitted. "But give me five cycles."

Now he embraced her, mindful of her left side, before standing. "Five cycles."

"Five cycles," she repeated.

He stroked her helm; his smile, while sad, was encouraging. "Thank you."

She waited until he left the OR, the doors closing behind him, before she stood, placing her hand over Magnus's.

"It doesn't end," she repeated. "Loss, that is. There'll always be loss. And it's hard for us to accept it. As a race, that is. Hey," she beckoned, as though expecting him to turn his head, look her in the optic; he didn't. "I'm not for miracles. But if anyone can give death a beat down, it's you. Come back for a third round, soldier." She patted his hand and turned to leave. "See you afterwards."

Artemis found Trailcutter waiting for her outside the medibay. "I said I was going to give you five cycles before heading over," he pledged.

"I believe you," Artemis smiled, but the gesture felt empty.

_Like how I always feel when I've lost someone close._

"Hey, Art?"

That tone...as though he was afraid to walk on a potential minefield. Even after the past couple of decacycles — hell, after their first meeting! — he was terrified to say the wrong thing. "I thought we were clear nothing you can say is out of bounds with me," she reminded. For emphasis — well, for comfort, too — she took his left hand. Held it.

He looked down at their intertwined fingers. "Um...I was going to ask if there was anything I could do for you."

"You're doing it." There was no hesitation as she leaned against him.

The main auditorium was somber, a contrast to its normal uses as a lecture or concert hall, a briefing or game room. A large, open area above the bridge, it featured an impressive view of the forward-facing star field, and could fit three times the number of crew members.

Most of the crew had already assembled, with half claiming seats — mostly the back ones, closest to the exits if needed to ditch early for various reasons. Apprehension rose from her fuel tank when she ascertained there was only a couple seats open back there, all inside, with little chance of a quick escape, but where would she escape to? She wanted to return to her vigil, but that streak of common sense reminded her that he would still be there when the service was over. She still had him for eight or nine more sols. Was it? She never bothered to look at the clock since starting her watch.

Hoist was standing in the second row, watching the door; when he saw Artemis and Trailcutter, he gestured. We're over here. Trailcutter's friends had become hers; even Hoist, who had been apprehensive of her since boarding. There was still some tension between the two of them, and while conversation outside their circle constituted of whether one had seen either Grapple or Trailcutter, Hoist no longer saw her as a powder keg and she no longer saw him as the disapproving roommate of her best friend. But who could blame him? Two stels ago, she would have had a hard time believing she'd be able to befriend engineers and artists.

How things changed.

"How are you?" Hoist questioned her, moving over next to Grapple, who was staring at the floor, morose, his fists atop his knees.

"Holding it together," she admitted. "At least trying to." _How are you feeling, he means._ "I'm ... hurt. Emotionally. I'm not good at describing my feelings. Sorry."

"The default emotion of an artist," Grapple lamented. "To hide such pain behind a cheerful facade, and to those around said artist to believe it, then are we successful?"

"He waxes into philosophy when he's upset," Hoist put a hand on the caution-yellow Autobot's shoulder.

"Pay me no mind," Grapple waved away the comment.

Switching sides so that Artemis got the outside seat, Trailcutter sat between her and Hoist. He kept a hand in contact with her, the base of her neck and between her shoulder plating; she felt the circular ridge of his palm there, a feature she now recognised and welcomed by contact alone.

"None of them who died were fighters, save Magnus," she whispered.

"Don't bury him yet, beautiful," Trailcutter reassured. "There still could be a chance."

She slumped in her seat. "We're supposed to be protecting the support. We're front lines. We're not supposed to let the opposition get through."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened, Art," Hoist reminded. "It's hard to establish a front line when we were taken by surprise."

"I don't like being taken by surprise," she muttered, folding her right arm over her chest and, when remembering the lack of left to support the cross, dropped her hand into her lap. Instead, she leaned her head onto her friend's shoulder. "Permission to show moment of weakness?"

"You're not weak, Art," Trailcutter stated, hugging her shoulders. "You're many things, but 'weak' is never one of them."

Rodimus, in captain's regalia, took to the stage, with Xaaron, donning the cloak of the Covenant, flanking his right. Gone was Rodimus's self-confidence. He was still rattled from the events.

 _C'mon, Hot Rod, put on a brave face, be the rock for your crew; we need to see that now. We need to know our friends didn't die in vain. There was doubt._ And that doubt brought back what Drift had said: she needed to believe in something. She believed in Rodimus, ever since she found herself on Earth.

 _Let your friends be your cloak and comfort._ The spiritualist also said that. Optics still up front, she leaned into Trailcutter's embrace, ignoring the phantom ache in her left shoulder assembly.

Chromedome was in front of her. Also missing was his left arm, at the elbow. That was where the door to the escape pod cut it off, when Rewind sacrificed himself to destroy Overlord, to save the ship. She had a vague recollection of Cavalier reporting the events that happened after Artemis had lost consciousness.

And it had been Chromedome who had made the call, the mercy shot to destroy the pod.

_No one should have to make that call._

Another urge, resisted, succumbed. Rewind had been her friend, one of the few who accepted her when she first arrived at Autobot City, even before Magnus. The archivist was a hero, but at what cause? She placed her right hand on Chromedome's shoulder. He stiffened, moved his hand up as to brush hers off, but, as she started to lift it, he took it, held it, before releasing. _Message received, understood, and copied._

This was not like Red's attempted suicide. The report of his impending recovery controlled those rumours.

An inquiry. There would be an inquiry. What happened to Red — it was connected. She knew it was connected. She would have asked to be on the panel, but...that would require to put the effort. She was...tired. And in eight or nine or how many sols, they'll be back here again.

She caught Rung glancing over at them in her peripheral; by the time she looked up at him, he had about-faced, attention back on Rodimus.

She could not make out the words.

She looked left; Hoist met her gaze and arched his brow, his variant of a reassuring smile.

_Let your friends be your cloak and comfort._

These were her friends. They may have not been her Wreckers, but they did not need to be.

They were her support now.

_And you protect your support._

Was she surprised there had been a religious turn to the service? No; not when Xaaron was presiding, not when Drift was standing by Rodimus's elbow. Though something seemed strange about his posture, by his words, not empty, just ... distant.  
Instead of listening to the invocation, she offlined her optics and rested her head on Trailcutter's shoulder. She had enough, she wanted to go back to the vigil, the silence, the penance, at Magnus's deathbed.

But more so, the truth had dawned as Trailcutter hugged her tighter (whispering "okay?" as her exposed shoulder mount pressed into his side, for which she nodded; the discomfort was minimal, even negated, by the comforting gesture) that, for now, she resisted the urge to bolt.

For now.

NEXT CHAPTER: Tomorrow Never Knows


End file.
